A Third Hand

Nine years ago...

"I don't suppose you've anything to eat?" the small princess repeated her question.

Prince Mikhail opened his eyes and turned his head to give her his most aggrieved glare. Like a tiny mosquito buzzing in his ear, she persisted.

"I've seen you before you know, from the wall, and I've often wondered what you eat to grow so large," she continued undaunted. "Oleg says you eat children..."

Prince Mikhail frowned, snatched up his cloak from the ground, and began rummaging through the pockets.

"Of course, I know he's teasing me, but you're so big I thought you might be at least part ogre--"

"Height comes from blood," he muttered. "If you have tall parents--"

"Yes, but I have tall parents as well, so I think it's rather more than that," she argued. "Is it oranges? I like oranges though we rarely get them in Gelt."

"Meat," he growled. "We preserve meat and feed it to soldiers. It keeps them strong."

"Meat... you mean like fish?" she asked, making a disgusted face. "I don't like fish at all, but sometimes that's all there is and--"

"No. Meat with blood in it. Meat," he repeated, at last finding what he had been looking for. He thrust the strip of jerky toward her and flicked his wrist impatiently, indicating that she should take it.

The girl reached for it slowly and taking it, turned it over in her hand, studying it carefully.

"It's not like fish?" she confirmed.

"No. It is venison perhaps, or maybe beef, I don't know," he muttered.

She held it up, tapped it a few times with her finger, and sniffed it, and at last, tentatively poked out her small tongue and licked it.

"It's salty!" she scoffed. "Like the ocean."

"It's NOT fish," he growled. "Eat it."

The girl glanced at him, suspicion evident in her wide blue eyes, but she did as he instructed and took a small bite, or at least attempted to. Her small white teeth clamped down tightly but did not pierce through the leather hard strip. Prince Mikhail sighed again and snatched the jerky from her hand.

"Like this," he instructed ripping off a piece with the side of his mouth and chewing it. His side throbbed again from the movement as he held it out to her.

The child took it back and mimicked what she had seen him do. She still had to twist the strip in her hand to break off a piece as she bit down, but when she had finally worked a bit free and began chewing, she grinned up at him.

"S'not like fish!" she agreed, her mouth full. "It's salty and spicy."

She shifted excitedly so that she could use both hands to grip the strip of jerky, and in doing so, exposed her small leg through the rip in her dress all the way to her knee. Prince Mikhail winced and glanced quickly away. He tossed his cloak at her.

"Cover yourself with that," he ordered.

"Why?" she wondered, but did as he instructed, lifting the overly large cloak, and pulling it across her shoulders. She looked for all the world like a puppy that had rolled itself up in a tent.

"Because your legs and arms are bare," he explained.

"What's wrong with bare arms?" she asked.

"It's indecent," he clarified.

"What's indecent mean?"

"It means to go about exposing your bare arms and legs!" he snapped.

"You don't ever have bare arms?" she scoffed, glancing sideways at him.

"Never," he confirmed.

"What about when you train?" she demanded.

"No."

"What about after you train, and you're all sweaty?" she asked, still unconvinced.

"No."

"What about when you bathe?" she grinned cheekily.

Instead of answering, he glared at her.

"Sir Aron is indecent a lot, I guess," she continued. "He always takes his shirt off after training to wipe his chest with a towel and all the girls like that very much, especially Ora. It's a shame you're never indecent. If I had great big muscles like you, I'd take my shirt off at every opportunity!"

Too shocked to answer, Prince Mikhail watched as the small girl stood and allowed the cloak to slip from her narrow shoulders. Holding her skinny arms akimbo as if they were too large and powerful to hang straight at her sides, she swung her shoulders, and struck a pose, turning to give him her best attempt at a smoldering look--

"Like this," she instructed, and then dropped her voice an octave to imitate the man he could only guess was Sir Aron, the most famous warrior of Vezda. "Good afternoon, ladies," she mimicked in her best attempt at a manly drawl and swiped at her abdomen with an imaginary towel.

From deep in the pit of his tightly clenched stomach, Prince Mikhail felt something tremble and bubble up into his throat. This was the strong desire to laugh. He had felt it before as a child, and swallowed it as easily as he did then, though it made his wounded side ache even worse.

"It's... different for men then it is for women," he managed to say.

"Why?" she responded with what appeared to him to be her favorite word.

"Women are more likely... to be... attacked," he explained, uncomfortable with the direction their conversation appeared to be taking.

"I disagree. There are far more men in our army than women, and that means men are much more likely to be attacked. Especially if they forget their armor and go into battle with bare arms," she chided him as if he were the ignorant one.

"How old are you?" he growled.

"Ten... well, almost ten. I'll be ten in one month. How old are you?" she replied, again draping the heavy cloak about her shoulders as she sat. She had finished the jerky strip and frowned a little as she stared at her empty hands.

Ten was legally old enough for a girl to marry in the Empire, though it was generally frowned upon to take a wife who had not matured enough to bear a child. However, every good and loving father in the Empire knew that there were a few powerful and well-connected noblemen that did not let public opinion prevent them from acquiring young girls for their harems, and so, such fathers knew to keep their daughters home and out of the public eye, effectively hidden, for their own safety. That the small princess pranced about the entire town of Gelt with bare arms and legs and absolutely no understanding of the dangers of men was, to him, a powerful indictment against the King of Vezda's parenting abilities.

"How old are you?" she repeated and licked the salt from her fingers sadly.

"Don't do that," he admonished and reached into the exposed pocket of the cloak she clasped around herself. He found another piece of jerky and passed it to her. "I'm much older than you."

"That's not what Oleg says," she protested before gnawing eagerly on the strip of meat.

"Oh? What does Oleg have to say about it then?" he sighed.

"Hmmm... last year he said you were the same age as Ora. So now, you would be... 16? That's older, but not MUCH older. Oleg is older than you," she informed him.

"If you knew as much, why did you ask?" he growled.

Instead of answering, she grinned at him and continued to gnaw at the jerky strip. His side had grown numb while they talked, he realized. It would be a good time to dig the arrowhead out. If he waited too long, the effects of the hutteroot would wear off.

"Ora thinks you're handsome," the girl announced. "We saw you from the tower last year, and she told Oleg you were handsome, but not quite as handsome as Sir Aron."

"Does every single thought in your brain tumble directly out of your mouth or does some of it stay in there?" he snapped.

She continued to chew on the jerky strip as she studied him. He had noticed it before, of course, even in the moonlight, but the child had strange eyes. Blue eyes were extremely rare in the Empire, and strange stories were always attached to the few who had them. People said that they were descended from the sea gods, and that they brought bad luck to their families. Hers were not just blue, they were blue-green.

"Are you going to bind your wound?" she asked.

"No."

"It looks like you've bled a great deal," she cautioned.

"I have," he agreed.

"You don't want to bind it because you'd have to take off your armor and tunic, and then you'd be indecent," she guessed.

"Indeed," he agreed.

"I won't look," she offered.

"I am unconvinced," he answered quickly.

The girl stuffed the rest of the jerky in her mouth and brushed her hands off on her skirt. She looked around quickly and then rose to her knees and crawled into the brush behind him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Just a minute!" she called.

He heard the rustle of leaves and the snap of a branch being broken, and then she was back with two long sticks in her hand. She drove these forcefully into the ground a few feet apart directly in front of him, and then dragged his cloak over the stakes, effectively forming a barrier between the two. Then she stood on the other side and peeked over the top at him.

"You see?" she explained. "Now you can be indecent and I won't know about it when I sit down."

She sat down to demonstrate, disappearing behind his cloak.

Prince Mikhail considered it. There was likely little time before the hutteroot wore off. He would not make it to Dreyva by daybreak even if he left at that exact moment, but General Ivanov knew the plan. He did not need to be there to lead the attack himself. He had sustained an injury which would explain his absence when he came late to the field. If he took care of his wound quickly, he would be able to travel faster afterwards.

"Give me my cloak," he ordered.

"But I just set it all up nicely," complained a muffled voice from behind the fabric.

"I'll need medicine and ointment from my pockets first," he explained. "You set it up once, you can set it up again."

The princess grumbled something to herself, but in a moment she had reappeared to drag down her makeshift barrier and bring it to him.

Prince Mikhail removed a small blade and several packages from the pockets of his cloak, unwrapping one that appeared to be an ointment, he was surprised to discover another small piece of hutteroot. He shoved it in his pocket along with the last strip of jerky.

"I have what I need now," he informed the girl. "Set it up and do not let me catch you spying on me."

When she had rebuilt the cloth barrier, and once again positioned herself behind it, Prince Mikhail quickly removed his breastplate and gardbrace before cutting a slit in his tunic, so that he could pull it over his head without tugging at the remaining piece of the arrow shaft. He struck his flint several times and set it to his sparkbox. When it glowed to life, he touched his knife to it and waited until the tip burned red. He held the knife in his hand a moment, allowing it to cool, and then carefully positioned it at the base of the arrowshaft.

No matter how much the hutteroot had dampened his pain, cutting the thing from his flesh would be excruciating. The girl might hear and wonder...

"What is your name?" he asked, and then grit his teeth and drew the blade down from the point of entry. His side burned as though he'd seared the flesh off.

"It's T... Amari," she lied.

"Why... were you... in the bell tower..." he got out with great difficulty as he dug the tip of the knife in.

"That... is a very boring story," the young princess began. "You see, I fell asleep there in the afternoon. When I woke up it was dark. I heard the bell ringing and saw the flares in the sky, but I... I didn't really know what was happening until I... until I smelled smoke. I tried to get out of the tower, but the door was locked and there was so much fire. I was a little afraid, but then I remembered the time that Oleg had bet me that I wasn't small enough to fit through the archery window, so I did it and I won the bet. I tried to climb out the window, but I must have grown a bit because it took me a while to squeeze through, and then I had to jump a long way down into the woods. Then the gates opened and a whole troop of Unarian soldiers rushed out to chase me. I suppose I'll be careful about closing my eyes anywhere but my room from now on."

Prince Mikhail had finally managed to cut away the flesh caught on the arrowhead. Blood ran down his stomach, soaking his legging. He hissed a long breath through clenched teeth as he prepared to yank the arrow out with one sharp tug.

"Are you finished yet or are you still indecent?" the girl asked.

"Indecent," he growled.

"Are you alright? Your voice sounds strange."

"Fine."

"Do you need help?" he could hear the rustle of leaves against fabric as she shifted.

"NO!" he snapped. "No. Stay where you damn well are."

The blood was pooling in the palm of his hand as he gripped the shaft. The pain had grown in intensity with each passing second. An icy silence emanated from beyond the curtain.

"What... what will you do... when the war is over?" he gasped quickly. It was the favorite subject of most soldiers, and he only hoped that it would keep her talking at least half as long as it kept his own men when they discussed it over meals.

"I suppose that depends on who wins it. If we win? I'll eat everything!"

"Everything?" he prompted, silently willing her to go into one of her long breathless tangents.

"Yes. All the things I've only ever heard about. Oleg says that the greatest food in the world is crispy bacon, so I'll eat that first, and then the orange jelly candies that used to be sold in the capitol before there wasn't any more sugar. We only get oranges twice a year, but they sold the orange jellies in a shop every day, and Oleg says they were tart and chewy and sweet, and then there's pudding of course..."

Gritting his teeth, Mikhail finally pulled the arrow free, clamped his hand down over the fresh spurt of blood that followed it. He was beginning to feel light-headed, but he had to cauterize the wound. He looked for where he had set down the knife.

"... and I think potato and chicken soup, because that was Ora's favorite, and nowadays, all we get is boiled cabbage soup. She always talks about that soup and lemon tarts. So probably lemon tarts as well. Perhaps an entire feast. I've never been to a feast, but I've always heard about them. Oleg says that there are bees on the holy island and they used to make honey sweets, but now they use all the honey for medicines..."

Mikhail almost swore again. He'd set the knife down on the wrong side and couldn't reach it without letting go of his side. He'd been too concerned with doing everything as quickly as possible, so that the child... the girl...

It was far too silent. He glanced up to make eye contact with a pair of blue green eyes watching him from over the top of his cloak. Those eyes widened as she looked down, taking in the scrolling, black lines and scars across his chest and arms, to where his red hand gripped his side hard, blood still leaking through his fingers.

"You...!" he hissed.

"You need another hand, don't you?" she asked. "You need someone to wrap that bandage round."

The child did not flinch or look away from the gore. She did not ask questions about his strange marks or scars. She did not call him a demon or cry or run away.

"You took the arrow out?!" the girl's eyebrows shot upwards in horror. "What have you done?"

"I need to... to cauterize it. I need that knife..." he explained.

"No. You mean to burn it closed? Is the Empire's medicine really so backwards? You seemed so sensible. I thought you'd know to bind it until you could return to your camp and have it removed and stitched, but to burn it closed? Has no one ever explained to you that it seals in dirt and rot? You can die from doing that."

"I'll die from blood loss if I don't."

"Only because you took the arrow out!" she scoffed.

"The knife!" he growled.

She hurried over at once and snatched up the knife but stopped to gaze open-mouthed at his sparkbox. She shook her head quickly and turned her attention back to him.

"You have to lay on your side, not sit hunched over like that," she demanded. "That glowing brick thing- is it hot?"

Prince Mikhail wanted to argue, but the child now held the knife. He leaned heavily, falling onto his side to better expose the wound, still covered firmly by his hand.

"Alright now. Let me find..." her tiny fingers traced their way across his side, above the wound, probing for something. He sucked in a surprised gasp and cringed. She shouldn't touch him! He wanted to scream at her. Shove her away, bite her like a dog. The shock of strange skin against his own burned almost worse than the wound itself. She pressed down gently.

"Now let go when I say three, understand?" she ordered.

Still disconcerted by the slight pressure of the child's fingers, he could only nod.